1X They Weren't, 1X They Were & 2X They Weren't
by TeaOli
Summary: One time they really weren't, one time they were and two more times they weren't. Four stories, each in three parts. Complete.
1. One X They Really Weren't: 1

**One Time They Really Weren't: Chapter 1  
**

* * *

"Captain, this course of action is not wise," Spock protested.

"This is the safest place for both of you," Kirk told his first officer. "I promise you, we'll fix this. Somehow." Before Spock could further object, he sealed his duffel, silently praying he wasn't sealing the fates of two of his best officers.

.

.

**Two hours earlier…**

"_I am _Sp_ock," Spock said again, emphasizing the initial consonants for good measure._

"_Sock!" Inanna insisted. _

"_Spock."_

"_Sock!"_

_Spock gave up. Arguing with juvenile humanoids was clearly a fruitless pursuit across the universe. Bowing to the young girl seated on a diminutive throne, he turned away just in time to catch the grin his mate wasn't quick enough to hide. He gestured for her to make her audience with child who claimed to be a goddess._

"_I am Lieutenant Uhura, also of the USS Enterprise," he heard her say. There was a long silence from the throne, then, "Underoos!"_

_Spock turned back to see how Nyota would handle this._

"_I beg your pardon?" _

"_Underoos," repeated the little goddess. "They are a form of underwear, favored by children on your planet, are they not?"_

"_I—I'm…" Nyota faltered. _

Late Twentieth–, early Twenty-first Century children's undergarments, usually depicting the uniform of a "superhero." _Spock informed her through their bond._

"_Oh, Underoos!" she exclaimed, giggling a little. "Some of my ancestors might have worn them, but I don't think they're available for modern children on Earth." _

_The child's brow wrinkled as she leaned forward in her throne. "You are Sock's mate?"_

"_Sock, er, Spock is my husband, yes."_

"_Underoos," Inanna declared. "You may go."_

Do not engage her further, beloved, _Spock advised. _

_His adun'a pasted a patently false smile on her face and bowed. As she quickly made her way across the throne room to where he and the rest of the team stood waiting, Spock noticed she was not giggling over the corruption of her own name._

"_For an alleged goddess of language and meaning, Inanna's knowledge of both appears to be decidedly lacking," he murmured just loud enough for the other two to hear as Nyota reached them. _

"_Actually," she said, "Inanna was primarily considered to be the goddess of words and syntax. Language and meaning fall under her secondary spheres of influence, but I've never read anything that said pronunciation was a domain of hers."_

"_Still," said Spock, "one would think that such a deity would—" _

"_Oh!" screeched Lieutenant Uhura as she disappeared in a flutter of red and brown silk._

_Spock sprang forward, reaching for his mate, even as he felt his surroundings inexplicably warping and growing larger._

"_Good God, Spock!" the doctor exclaimed. "You're a sock!"_

"_Bones!" he heard Kirk cry. "Do something!"_

_Spock glanced down at his now-severely-truncated body. Peering from the corner of his eyes, he was able to ascertain that his mate had also been transformed._

"_Just what the hell do you expect me to do, Jim?" McCoy snapped back. "I'm a doctor, not a tailor."_

.

.

Spock twisted around in the darkness of Kirk's duffel until his superior Vulcan sight (curiously, that much had been retained even in this new state) made out the lingerie that was now his lovely Nyota.

"Beloved," he whispered and she bunched and stretched her satiny silk until it brushed against his utilitarian cotton.

"What are we going to do, k'diwa?" His wife sighed on the last word and Spock marveled that breathing still seemed to be a necessity despite the fact that neither of them appeared to possess lungs.

"I do not know," he replied. "There are, however, several intriguing aspects of our new existence which I would like to further explore while the opportunity exists."

"Spock!" Nyota snarled. "We've just been transformed into underwear and locked in luggage for only-the-stars-know how long. Do you really think this is a good time to launch your latest scientific investigation?"

In lieu of an answer, her husband twisted his long body round and round and round hers until she was bound in his cotton embrace.

"Surely, you have noticed," he murmured somewhere near where her ears would have been if she had still been in possession of ears, "that certain biological functions continue in spite of our lack of organs to perform the functions or even a logical need for them in our current state."

"I noticed you can still talk the ears off an elephant."

Spock's lips moved to the location that was formerly Uhura's neck. "Wouldn't you like to know what else we are still capable of accomplishing?" he asked.

The silk teddy shivered in his grip.

* * *

**A/N:** Just having a bit of fun with typos. EDIT 22 January 2011:Just opened this story and saw that the first chapter had gone missing! Ack! Have no idea how long languished that way, but it's fixed now.


	2. One X They Really Weren't: 2

**One Time They Really Weren't: Chapter 2**

* * *

**Meanwhile**

Kirk stared up at the giant horned serpent, careful to keep his most diplomatic smile in place. "Sir, you've said that nothing she does is beyond your ability to undo," he said with a forced patience anyone who knew him would see through immediately. "If your child won't change them back, then you'll just have to do it."

Clearly morose, the god of language and writing shook his massive head.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Captain. If my daughter is to learn from this experience, _she_ must be who returns your companions to their former forms."

Sint Holo undulated over to his recalcitrant offspring. She was staring at her feet and wrapping a long, dark braid around the fingers of her left hand.

"Inanna." He sighed sadly at his defiant daughter. "I am very disappointed in your behavior. Please go to your room and remain there until you are able to represent the House of Semanti in a more respectful manner."

The little goddess slunk out of the throne room, shoulders drooping and feet dragging with every step.

"Let's see if I've got this straight," Jim snarked, all pretense of patience going the way of the Triassic Period, "you're saying teaching your daughter a lesson is more important than saving two lives?" Kirk folded his arms across his chest, his crystal blue eyes going as cold as the North Sea. "And then, just to make sure we feel _really_ welcome on your planet, to show us how well you've got things under control, the kid gets a _time out_ for turning two of my best officers into underwear?"

"Your officers' lives are not in danger," Sint Holo assured him. "While they remain articles of clothing, their bodily functions will be ongoing, but with significantly slowed metabolisms. They will have only a limited need for sustenance, and that can be met through the ingestion of other textiles. I will make sure your physician receives complete care instructions within the hour. In the meantime, you have made the best choice by packing them away. You will be informed before Inanna is ready to change them back so that you may release them from their confinement."

"Jim..." McCoy backed up his half-spoken admonishment with a firm grip on the captain's bulging bicep.

"I understand your frustration, Captain," the god said. His tone was almost placating, but there was a steel behind it that told Bones the snake wouldn't be changing his mind anytime soon. "If Inanna has not restored Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura by the time our negotiations are complete, I will pursue the matter further and employ an alternate punishment for her. More than that, I cannot promise you."

The snake nodded to the two men and slithered out the way his daughter had gone.

Jim turned to his friend as soon as they were alone.

"Bones, you gotta do something!"

"And just what exactly did you have in mind, genius?" McCoy looked skeptical, fresh out of patience and ready to argue. Since that was about how he usually looked, Jim wasn't deterred.

"You're a dad," he pointed out like this was news to the doctor. "Can't you talk some sense into him?"

"Damn it, Jim!" McCoy snapped. "I'm a doctor, not Super Nanny for the divine. You heard her daddy, same as I did. He ain't reversin' the spell or whatever you call it. We either got to wait until it wears off or until Baby Goddess cools down.

"'Sides," he added in an undertone, "Joanna don't sass adults, so that ain't something I ever had to deal with."

.

.

**The Next Day**

Sock and Underoosa, that is Spock and Uhura, peeled apart as light exploded into the duffel.

"Shit, Kirk! Ever heard of knocking?" An extremely embarrassed piece of lingerie burrowed under a gold uniform shirt in a flash of brown silk.

Jim frowned down at his friends, and inadvertently caught sight of tiny red, blue and black scraps of cloth covering a strategic area of a large unbleached-cotton sock. He averted his eyes as soon as the slightest hint of comprehension threatened. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not, Captain," the sock said dryly. Abruptly changing tack, he offered, "Although at the moment my wife would prefer privacy, perhaps I might be of some assistance?"

"I uh, I just needed a fresh uniform," he replied, still staring anywhere but down. He heard a soft rustling from the depths of the duffel, then Spock's voice, strangely tiny and quiet, saying, "If you reach in with your right hand, the required clothing is lying thirteen centimeters to the left of the right-hand corner."

Gingerly, Kirk did as instructed, ignoring the urge to ask how a sock and a nightie-type-thingie had managed to move his things around. As he lifted the neat pile of clothes free, he could only just hear Uhura muttering incoherently.

"Lieutenant Uhura is hungry, Jim," Spock told him. "She says that your shirts are particularly appetizing and would like to know if you would be averse to allowing us to use one to meet our nutritional needs."

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." Without looking at either officer again, Kirk sealed the luggage and headed for the shower.

.

As darkness descended inside the duffel, a handsome sock scooted closer to a slip of sexy satin.

"Shall we continue our investigation, ashayam?" Spock murmured. Uhura shimmied even closer until she could press her silken lips to his.

* * *

**A/N:** According to www dot godchecker dot com, Inanna was a Mesopotamian goddess of language, words, syntax and meaning, and Sint Holo is a Cherokee god of language, writing and the alphabet. Other sources with give them other attributes, but it's best to ignore that for the purposes of this ficlet.


	3. One X They Really Weren't: 3

**One Time They Really Weren't: 3**

* * *

Only after Lieutenant Uhura had eaten an enormous hole through his fourth and final gold top did Kirk think to ask the ship's storekeeper send him an entire bolt of the gold fabric for her meals. Of course, by then he figured she was welcome to what was left of his uniforms; he had the storekeeper beam down a new duffel full of new shirts, instead.

"But it just doesn't make sense, Bones," Jim mused. "Sint Holo said their metabolisms would slow down. And you _know_ what Spock's like; he hardly eats even when he's humanoid."

Bones was no help. He just referred to the list of his crewmates' nutritional needs and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe you should try usin' that famous Kirk charm to get the kid to change 'em back instead of whinin' to me about it."

The horned serpent god was no help. When the captain confronted him on the lieutenant's unexpectedly voracious appetite, Sint Holo wave his head in what was probably a sentient snake's equivalent of a shrug and said "She's female."

Asking Spock the Sock was a waste of time. He was by turns taciturn and combative. "Lieutenant Uhura's appetite is a personal matter, Captain," he finally said, but only after Kirk ordered him to explain the holey shirts.

Uhura wasn't exactly eager to assist, either. "Why don't you work on getting that brat to change us back," she snapped, tagging on a belated "sir" when Jim opened his mouth to protest. "And how about that privacy?"

Kirk tried not to notice that the blue, red and black scraps of cloth were nowhere in sight.

.

.

**Three Days Later**

Bones was pretty sure he didn't want to be any help. Sint Holo's less than satisfactory explanation had run through his head long enough to make the kind of sense he didn't want it to make. He sure as hell didn't want to be the one to confirm his suspicions.

"I think I know what's going on," he told his friend. "You're gonna have to open the duffel." He told him why.

No surprise that Jim wasn't exactly handing out cigars at the prospect. "I would prefer not to."

"Look, Bartleby, it's your luggage and they're _your_ officers. Open it."

"I'm a starship captain, not a doctor! _You_ open it."

"Damn it, Jim! Open the blasted bag!"

.

Kirk opened the blasted bag.

When a pair of booties and a creeper came tumbling out screaming "Mama!" he started cursing little girl goddesses and their lenient parents the universe over. Loudly and vehemently.

"Not in front of the children!" chided Bones.

"Thank you, Doctor," said the sock.

The brown satin teddy beamed proudly.

_Finis_

* * *

**A/N:** That's it for "One Time They Really Weren't." Next up: "One Time They Were." Coming soon.


	4. One X They Were: 1

**One Time They Really Were: Chapter One**

* * *

The comfy wicker basket reminded her of home. She'd just snuggled into it, an e-book she'd been dying to read already queued up on her PADD, when her door chimed. She wasn't expecting visitors so late in the ship's evening and briefly debated letting it go unanswered. After all, she was off-duty and if there was an emergency, Captain Kirtle would surely have had someone page her. After considering for less than fifteen seconds, however, she put down her PADD and wriggled over to see who was there.

"Mr. Sock!" she exclaimed a little breathlessly. "What brings you here?" She wriggled aside to let the handsome Ash'ai hop in.

He waited for the door to slide closed behind him before answering her. His stern face, the color of unbleached cotton touched with green, was even more austere than usual as he regarded her so gravely.

"Lieutenant Underoosa," he said, "I require assistance."

.

As Lieutenant Underoosa wriggled to a stop in her sitting area, Sock hopped on towards her sleeping alcove.

"Just where do you think you're going, Commander?" she queried, her tremulous voice giving away her fear despite the belligerence of her words.

Sock hopped in a circle until he was once again facing the trembling teddy. The brown satin silk of her skin glowed in the low light of her quarters, calling him closer.

With a single hop, Sock was across the room and centimeters away from the beguiling communications officer.

"Forgive me Negli— Nyota," he murmured, leaning in to inhale her scent. "Without your help, I am destined for the rag heap."

.

.

"It is called the Pon farr. A biological imperative that separates Ash'ai males from their logic approximately every seven Terran years," Sock told her. "It comes with an insanity that collapses our façade of refinement.

"My mate, T'Pantyhose, can do nothing for me now. Even if that were not the case, she and I were separated some time ago and I doubt she would have been willing if the nature of our link did not compel her."

"Your mate is a pair of tights, Mr. Sock?"

"No," he explained, sounding quite a bit testy. "Her _name_ was T'Pantyhose. She, of course, was a knitted stocking, much as all Ash'ai are."

"You mean she's a sock?"

"I have just said that she was."

"But that doesn't make any sense, Mr. Sock. You're a sock, and your name is 'Sock' …"

"Because of my mixed heritage, my father was concerned that—"

"Con_cerned_? Isn't that a Ladieswear emotion, Mr. Spock?"

"My father believed there was a possibility that, as my mother was Ladieswear, I might find it difficult to fit into Ash'ai society. He named me 'Sock' — the Federation Standard word for 'ash'ai' — to remind me of who, and what, I must be."

Underoosa shook her head, thinking that Ambassador Thorlos's logic was faulty in the extreme. She was just about to say so when another fact hit her like a bucket of biting borax bath booster.

"Wait a minute! Did you say her name _was_ T'Pantyhose?"

"I did."

"You mean she's dead?"

"Affirmative."

"But if the two of you have been separated for a long time, how can you be sure?"

* * *

**A/N:** Here begins the second adventure of Sock and Underoosa. (This one is my favorite of the four.)

Illustrated version of the first fic available at my lj.

I should have mentioned, this particular ficlet is TOS; all of the others are reboot.


	5. One X They Were: 2

**One Time They Were: Chapter Two**

* * *

"There was a dryer accident," he told her. "T'Pantyhose was of an extremely delicate weave and should never have attempted to utilize such a device."

Sock sighed, another clear indication that all was not well with him. Underoosa made sympathetic noises, encouraging him to continue without actually articulating anything at all.

"To ensure our survival when the madness comes upon us, Ash'ai males are mentally bonded to a female when we reach the equivalent of seven Terran years old," he explained.

"You foot-coverings sure like seven Terran years, don't you?" the teddy observed. "But what does that have to do with— oh!" Then, "Oh _no_! I'm so sorry, Mr. Sock."

She thought the Ash'ai seemed astoundingly serene if he'd intended to imply what she had inferred.

"Yes," he said, as if she'd spoken the question dancing around her mind. "When my mate… was lost, I felt our bond break. Of course, I sent condolences to her parents, but as T'Pantyhose and I were never a suitable match, my life was otherwise unaffected by her death."

"I see," was Underoosa's dry reply. She'd always heard the Ash'ai were cold culottes, but she'd always thought Mr. Sock was sort of an exception. It seemed that she'd thought wrong.

"I do not believe you do, Ms. Underoosa."

"Oh, I get it, alright!" she shot back. "You've got the seven-year itch and no nylons left to scratch it for you."

"I was mistaken," he conceded. "You understand perfectly." He almost smiled in his relief.

"And just what makes you think _I'm_ the cure for what ails you? What makes you think I'd agree to something so insane?"

Sock frowned, half confused and half afraid. "I do not believe it to be insane at all. We are well suited."

"The hell we are, Mister! Why, you didn't even care that T'Panyhose died! I don't think I could ever be considered 'suitable' to someone so callous."

"Our bonding is a logical choice," he purred. He _purred_! Underoosa tried not to love the purring. "Given our mutual desire, Nyota, our eventual mating is — barring any injury that might render us incapable — likely to the point of being nearly inevitable."

"'Desire'?" she parroted.

"'_Mutual_ desire,'" he reiterated. "I did not know T'Panyhose very well and had no particular wish to mate with her. I know you, Nyota. And I know that you are the one I want."

.

.

Still flabbergasted, Underoosa tried to settle into her bureau for the night. Commander Sock's remarkable request prevented her from getting a wink of sleep. After he'd assured her he didn't need her answer right away, she'd rushed him from her rooms, saying she would think it over. And think she did. All through the ship's night.

Sleeping with Mr. Sock? She couldn't claim she'd never contemplated it. Hell, how many times _had_ she fantasized about feeling the Ash'ai's fine cotton sliding against her silk, filling her over and over until it felt as if her seams would burst?

But, oh! Fantasies were like crushes; they were always better in your mind than in reality. Weren't they? And Besides, Sock wasn't asking for a quick tumble on a low setting.

"Why don't you ask Nurse Wimple? She'd do anything for the chance of a night or seven in your drawers."

"Nurse Wimple does not appeal." He was asking for it all. "I am looking for a mate. You and I are sufficiently compatible — in all applicable areas — to ensure an advantageous alliance."

If she understood the Ash'ai marriage bond correctly, they'd be stitched together for the rest of her life. And sexy or not, was Sock really what she wanted in a husband?

She tossed and turned in her drawer until she was a mass of wrinkles, his final words haunting her until ship's morning dawned. "Without your cooperation, Ms. Underoosa, I will die."

* * *

**A/N:** As the now-edited author's note for the first chapter of this ficlet says, this one is TOS, while the others are all reboot.


	6. One X They Were: 3

**One Time They Were: Chapter Three**

Both sleep and meditation eluded him. He had not been completely honest with the slinky communications officer; there were several other options for him if she refused his request. None of them, however, interested him in the least.

The truth was, even without the Pon farr, Sock burned for Underoosa. Over the years spent serving at her side, he'd said nothing of his growing desire for the satin silk teddy. Her console was less than a meter from his station and every day, from the moment she'd joined the crew, he'd been forced to endure the torture of her maddeningly exotic fabric softener.

He spent hours in meditation before his firepot, trying to sublimate the distracting disquiet caused by dreams of darning himself into her tightly-woven fibers, proclaiming to the universe that she was the property of S'chn T'gai Sock.

* * *

Still lost in thought, Underoosa barely noticed the end of the delicates cycle, rinsing away her fabric softener. The scent was her favorite and she had long suspected that Mr. Sock found it agreeable as well. The way he had breathed her in the night before gave credence to her conjecture. Water sluiced down her naked body from shoulder straps to crotch-cover as she stood.

Her choice was clear as clear as the final rinse; she _had_ no choice, really. Sock mustn't die.

Memories of T'Pantyhose's fate still fresh in her mind, she slithered over to the moisture-extractor and hooked herself onto the conveniently placed bar hanging below. Within seconds, she was dry and supple, giving silent thanks that she lived in an age when silken Intimate Apparel wasn't forced to drip dry. She did not want to keep her Ash'ai waiting.

* * *

"Are you certain, Ms. Underoosa?" His cotton countenance was grave, but his eyes were like fire as he studied her. "Ash'ai strive to live in logic, but in this matter we are often not so successful. We are territorial with our mates. Once this is done, I will not easily give you up."

"I'm sure, Mr. Sock," she whispered, her voice strong, betraying nothing of the maelstrom of apprehension and arousal that stormed her senses. "How do we do this? What do you need me to do?"

Sock regarded her intently for a long moment before speaking. "I will not hurt you, Nyota," he promised. "We begin with a meld."

He bent over her until his cheek brushed against her face, the heat of his temple seeping into hers.

"My warp to your warp," he murmured, and the next words entered her mind so that she spoke them with him, "my weft to your weft."

.

Sock had always been undeniably attractive. His blue and black uniform complemented his masculine beauty. Without it, he was magnificent, breath-taking. Overwhelming.

He would shred her; she was certain of this. She wanted to be shredded. Torn into pieces, then hemmed together again by his desire for her.

She need not have worried. They fit together perfectly. Cotton threads rasped against silk, the shorter, rougher fibers weaving around the long delicate filaments until he was weft to her warp. Locked in passion's static- electric grip, she clung to him.

"Oh, gods, Sock!" she cried out as he met her, thread for thread, stitch for stitch.

.

"Stitch me! Stitch me!" his mate panted. "You sew me so good, baby." Her dirty mouth only heightened his pleasure as he drove deeper and deeper into firm seam of her core.

"You are _mine_," Sock growled, thrusting harder, twining his fibers ever more intricately with hers. "Mine!"

"Yours, Sock," she cried, joyous tears slipping down her satin cheeks. "Always yours!"

They reached completion together. Threads and minds merged into one, a sum greater than its parts. A kaleidoscope of fantastical colors and shapes exploding behind their eyes.

"Taluhk nash-veh," Sock whispered when his heart and respiration rates slowed. He gathered her to him, holding tight to the silken cloth. "Taluhk nash-veh."

"I love you too," Underoosa pledged. "Always."

_Finis_ Story 2

* * *

**A/N:** Big thanks to SpockChick and LadyFangs/AquaSoulSis for the last minute betaing. This is a funnier (and sexier) chapter because of your input. And kisses to TalesFromTheSpockSide for a few after-posting catches. The women of Writers Anonymous and STCC Writers Guild rock!

Two ficlets to go in this series.


	7. Another X They Really Weren't — Quite: 1

**Another Time They Really Weren't: Chapter One**

* * *

"Bones! You won't believe happened last night!"

The door hadn't even closed behind him and the boy was already shouting. Leonard McCoy stifled a groan, but didn't bother looking up from his desk and the report he was revising. He was off-duty — sort of. Ship's surgeon, just like the captain, was never off-duty. But he was in his own quarters, already in his pajamas and Jim Kirk hadn't bothered to chime before he'd come bursting in. That was close enough for Bones.

He heard Jim flop down on the narrow fabric-covered pew that passed for a sofa on the damned flying death-trap they were stuck on for the next three years, and tried to keep his sigh as close to inaudible as possible. If the captain was making himself comfortable, nothing short of a red alert would get rid of him in under an hour. McCoy knew his night was shot, but he wasn't gonna give in easily.

"You can pretend to ignore me all you want," came the voice from across the room, "but I know that you know that you want to hear it. And you know that I know that you know."

Abandoning the report, Bones dropped his head into his hands. There was no winning against the kid.

"What?" he barked, still not looking over to the pew.

"'What… _sir_,'" Kirk corrected.

"Blast it, Jim!" McCoy spun around from the desk to find his best friend for the last five years grinning triumphantly.

While the older man worked on lowering his blood pressure and forcing himself not to say something stupid, the captain stretched languidly.

.

A lot of people complained about the time it took to become accustomed to sleeping on a starship. The constant ambient noise, so different from that of the Earth; the artificial distinction between ship's day and ship's night; the constant sense of forward progression (or so a very few claimed) — there were as many excuses, Leonard McCoy suspected — as there were crew members. Some people had lists several items long. He knew, because everyone liked to complain about it to the chief medical officer if they got the chance.

It was all bullshit, of course. Mostly, anyway. All the ships in the fleet had been designed to either eliminate, or at the very least greatly diminish, the very effects of long-term travel in a giant tin-can that all these folks wasted Bones's time whining about.

The captain was a different kettle of fish altogether. Jim Kirk never had any trouble sleeping on the Enterprise. When he wanted to jaw on about his nocturnal activities, the conversation always fell into one of two categories: "scoring" (he mostly stuck to women — or beings — who weren't crew, thank the stars) and dreaming.

Ninety times out of a hundred, the doctor protested that he didn't have the time or the desire to listen to yet another of his friend's stories. Thirty times out of a hundred, he was lying his ass off.

Because as much as it pained him to sit through Jim's smug retellings of the scope, the hunt, the pull and, finally, the act itself (all in excruciating detail), when the topic turned to the captain's dreams instead of his sex life, usually the conversations (or monologues, more like) got interesting.

.

"I had the weirdest dream, Bones," Jim began. "We were approaching the Blahnikian System when all of a sudden…"

.

.

"Keptin Kirtle, short-range sensors are picking up unidentified spacecraft comink straight for us!" Ensign Pizhama Chekov called out. "It seems to haf just appeared out of novhere, sir!" He stumbled over his words as he read off the other ship's coordinates.

James T-Shirt Kirtle left off watching his first officer watch the satin teddy at the communication station and spun the command rack around.

"Mr. Tutu, reduce power to impulse three and bring her round — port, forty degrees," the captain said calmly as he swished off of his rack and moved closer to the front of the bridge

"Aye, sir!" replied the frothy golden helmskirt. "Speed at impulse three! Bringing us about, forty degrees to port! "

"Shields up! Forward viewscreen on!" Kirtle authoritatively ordered the young pair of pink footie pajamas who was practically trembling with either excitement or terror. Swishing even closer to peer at the display, Kirtle added, "Lieutenant Underoosa, open hailing frequencies," as a strangely-shaped ship — the USS Enterprise, according to the name printed in huge black letters across its hull — appeared on the screen.

"Hailing frequencies already open, Captain," the teddy told him. "And they're responding."

* * *

**A/N:** And I bring you the first part of the third adventure of Sock and Underoosa.

Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Trek; still haven't bought any new Underoos.


	8. Another X They Really Weren't — Quite: 2

**Another Time The Really Weren't: Chapter Two**

* * *

"So, after talking with Kirtle awhile, we decide that you, Uhura and I will beam over to his ship and he, Underoosa and Bonnet are coming over here. And—"

"Hang on a minute!" Bones cut in. "How come you and the dress are both 'Jim,' but their McCoy is called 'Leotard' and 'Bonnet'?"

Kirk rolled his eyes, then covered them with his forearm. He let out an exaggerated sigh.

"It was a _dream_, Bones. Who knows how these things work?" He grinned up at the ceiling he could no longer see. "Besides, he _was_ a leotard, and Jim nicknamed him 'Bonnet' the day they met." He laughed at some joke only he knew the punch line to. "Anyway, so we get a tour of the Marshal Field, and then Sock calls this meeting to try to figure out what's going on and…"

.

.

"Mama?"

The high-pitched voice cut through the strained conversation, and the conference room went silent. Jim looked down the table ("It was interesting that some of their furniture was like ours — like tables and stuff — but they didn't have a single chair until that Scottish pocketbook thingie made a few for us.") and caught his communications chief's startled look. His gaze dropped down, following the line of her long, slender leg to the itty bitty scrap of mint-green cloth wiggling against her left boot.

"Mama?" it said again, this time obviously close to tears. Or to whatever these… things did when they were sad. "Mama!" the scrap shouted more forcefully, and redoubled its efforts at trying to climb up Uhura's leg.

Finally, with a shrug and a helpless look at Kirk, she bent down and lifted the thing into her arms. While she made shushing noises and held it close to her chest ("At that point, I would have paid a lot of credits to take its place!"), he got a good look at it for the first time.

"Is that a onesie?" he asked without thinking. Hell, no one had ever accused him of being a diplomat.

"Onesie® is a trademarked name, sir," Uhura informed him, still stroking the sleeveless, legless little garment. "I think perhaps she's an infant bodysuit, or possibly a creeper?" An enquiring glance at the giant sock was met with a nod of agreement.

"Indeed, Ms. Uhura," he said. "You are very perceptive." Turning to Kirk he went on — just a tad smugly, "My daughter's affinity for the lieutenant supports my theory—"

"Your _daughter_!" gasped Uhura, startling the creeper who started fussing again. While Uhura was busy calming her down Sock, as he claimed he was called, continued as if he'd never been interrupted.

"—that our universes must parallel each other in some way. My daughter was immediately drawn to Ms. Uhura." His eyes found the woman he had just spoken of. "It is possible that on your Enterprise, your own daughter might have done the same with my wife."

Uhura was still cooing to the creeper, bouncing the thing up and down, so she only said "Spock and I don't have any kids yet" before she started making funny faces that set the baby bodysuit giggling uncontrollably.

.

.

"I still didn't want to believe it, but the kid made it pretty obvious that he was probably on the right track, you know? And plus, there was the other Jim and Bonnet and everything. But the clincher came after Sock and Uhura started making eyes at each other."

McCoy dropped his head in his hands and huffed out a groan.

"Do I even want to hear the rest of this?"

"Hell yeah, you do!" Jim assured him. "I'm just getting to the good part."

.

.

_Nyota,_ Sock said in Uhura's mind, _in spite of the mounting evidence, your captain continues to resist the most logical explanation. Perhaps if you were to corroborate my theory, he might be persuaded to see reason._

_I'll see what I can do, k'diwa. I mean sir!_ she replied, and transferred the creeper to one hip.

"Captain," she said.

.

.

"Wait just a damned minute! How the hell do you know what they were thinking at each other?"

"Bones. Dream? Remember?"

"Fine. Whatever. Carry on."

.

.

"Captain," she said. "I have reason to believe that Sock's hypothesis is correct."

Jim looked at her suspiciously. "What reason is that, Lieutenant?" He thought he might know the answer; she looked way too comfortable holding the baby clothes, and the heated glances she was exchanging with the sock were almost as bad as the ones she and Spock shared when they thought no one could see them. But he needed verbal confirmation.

"The bond, sir. My marriage bond with Spock seems to, umm, work with Sock, as well."

Defeated, Kirk sank back into his hastily-constructed chair. He thought again of the way Uhura and the sock had been eying each other and shuddered.

"Damn."

The conference room door whooshed open again and two baby booties, both dressed in mini replicas of Sock's uniform hopped in. They darted right over to the communications officer only to stop in their tracks half a meter away.

Left to his own devices, Jim might never have imagined that articles of clothing could have such expressive, uh, faces. Especially not articles of clothing that were supposed to be one quarter Vulcan, or Ash'ai, or whatever. The two diminutive foot-coverings stared at Uhura in horror before turning to the big sock and wailing in unison, "What have they done to Mama?"

Of course, that just made the creeper cry all over again.

* * *

**A/N:** It just keeps getting worse and worse - or, if you're Sock and Uhura, better and better.

Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Trek; still haven't bought any new Underoos.


	9. Another X They Really Weren't — Quite: 3

"Meanwhile, back on the Enterprise — and before you ask again, it's _my_ dream, damn it. So, back on the Enterprise, Spock was, uh, making a new friend."

"Oh stars, Jim. I—"

"Just listen!"

.

.

"I find the correlation between your missions and ours to be… fascinating, Lieutenant Underoosa," Spock murmured.

As difficult as it might be to imagine a satin teddy appearing flirtatious, that's exactly the way Underoosa was looking at the Vulcan.

"Oh, so do I, Mr. Spock," she purred, wiggling closer to him. "So do I."

.

.

"Wait just a minute, here!" McCoy protested. "This is just… This is sick, Jim! I don't want hear another word. Great stars, man! Are you even listening to the words coming out of your mouth?"

Kirk chuckled and turned onto his side so he could wink at the doctor.

"Funny you should say that…"

.

.

"Great stars, you two!" Bonnet growled. "Get a room! Are you even hearing the words coming out of your mouths?"

Spock's expression didn't alter as he turned to the leotard in Science blue, but the tips of his ears were tinged with green.

"Ms. Underoosa is a married… Intimate Apparel," he stated. "Your implication is insulting, Doctor. Please apologize to her."

Underoosa fluttered her silky lashes at Spock and then smiled at McCoy. "That's okay. I'm sure Sock will have a good laugh about it when we get back to the Marshal."

The leotard paled and Jim Kirtle swished over to stand between his friend and the tall bag of flesh and bone whose expression bore such a strong resemblance to Sock's.

"Bonnet," he warned in a whisper, wondering if the Vulcan's hearing was as acute as that of an Ash'ai. He wondered what _else_ the two races might have in common. _If these Vulcans _were_ anything like Ash'ai,_ he figured, _it's probably not a good idea to go around insulting females who reminded them of their wives_.

He wasn't buying this Spock's theory about parallel universes. Even if their captain _was_ another James T. and their CMO was a McCoy. He wasn't quite convinced it wasn't a series of really weird coincidences. Still, this wasn't the right time to take the kind of risks he'd become famous — some said infamous — for.

_Sentient animals who don't even have enough fur to be decent fiber-producers_, he thought, a little grossed out._ Living mannequins. How the hell does Underoosa find one attractive? Funny how his wife's name is _also_ Nyota, though… _

"For crying out loud, Jim!" Bonnet's exclamation cut into his reverie. "That green-threaded stuffed bunny hat isn't about to let out my seams. His wife's over there with Sock probably getting the same lecture from their own Bonnet."

"Bones," Kirtle corrected, then shuddered at the thought of Sock looking at some bag of flesh and bones calling herself Lieutenant Uhura the way same Spock was looking at Underoosa.

He glanced at the pair. Neither had moved, but then Underoosa was smiling at lowering her lashed. Wisps of red thread crept in among the brown fibers of her face.

"Maybe someday soon, Mr. Spock," she murmured.

"That is doubtful," the Vulcan said. "We do not allow children on the Enterprise."

Jim abruptly came to the realization that he hadn't missed half their conversation because Bonnet was distracting him. Spock and Underoosa had just been… speaking mind to mind. Which meant…

"Oh snags," he muttered.

.

.

"How come 'Leotard' got all those lines, but I didn't say diddly-squat?"

Kirk sighed, pushing his fingers through thick golden hair. He heard bourbon splashing into McCoy's cup. "You said plenty. I just didn't think I needed to go into detail. You know what you sound like. A lot like Bonnet!" He grinned even though Bones couldn't see it now that he lay on his back again. Now, shut up, pour me one of those and let me finish the story."

.

.

Alerted to the possibility of his wife experiencing an affinity with his counterpart similar to the one he was experiencing with hers, Spock quickly moved to adjourn the conference.

"Perhaps it would be prudent for us to continue our exchanges of information at another time," he suggested. "It would probably be wise for Captains Kirk and Kirtle to meet face to face. It would…" He continued to blather on as they made their way to the transporter room.

Bonnet, not in the least fooled, was hard pressed not to let out a snicker every few seconds as he fluttered behind the flesh puppet down long corridors filled with strange beings. Really hard-pressed. By the time they'd alerted the Marshal Field of their plans and made it to the main transporter room, thousands of tiny red bits of cotton and springy synthetics had stretched through the fabric of his face.

But then the door hissed open and he turned the color of bleached cotton.

.

"Captains!" Montgomery Sporran idly brushed a tassel against his nose. "I'm still no' sure how it happened. Mr. Scott and I will figure it out, dinnae doubt it, sirs. We just need more time."

"Aye," agreed Montgomery Scott. "We already determined that we were both settin' coordinates at the same time, but we cannae be certain that was the only factor. But, dinnae worry, sirs. Sporrie and I'll ha' this all sorted as soon as we can."

Kirk and Kirtle exchanged glances.

Then both looked over to where Sock and Spock seemed to be attempting to have a serious conversation with Uhura and Underoosa while two booties and a creeper squirmed all over the Vulcan and the Ash'ai. The Nyotas, they noted, were smiling indulgently at their austere mates.

Neither captain was surprised to find their chief medical officers slumped grumpily by the door Scotty and Sporrie had sworn Engineering would have open before the two of them figured out how to fix the transporter.

They turned to observe the two couples again just in time to see a bootie yank on the creeper's sleeve with his teeth. The little garment burst into tears and sobs and was only consoled by the joint efforts of both of the females she called "Mama."

Kirtle and Kirk exchanged glances again and grinned.

.

.

"That's it?" Jaw a little slack, eyes a little squinty, McCoy stared at Kirk. "We were all stuck in a room full of people with a screaming baby?"

"Nah, we got out. Everyone ended up on his rightful ship. Don't know if Spock and Uhura ended up having three babies, though. You didn't need to hear the boring parts. All the technical stuff."

"Right." Leonard's jaw clenched and his brow lost its furrow. "And then we lived happily ever after? Just like that?"

"Whatever you say, Bones." Jim chuckled again. "Anyway, whadaya think?"

The ship's doctor sighed heavily — which just made his eyes go all squinty again. "I think you need to lay off the funny fern, Jim."

Kirk swung his legs off the sofa and sat up. "You're just jealous that your dreams aren't as interesting as mine." He took a long sip of the half-full glass of amber nectar. "You _know_ you wish your nights were as interesting as mine."

Bones categorically disagreed and he was about to say so when the lights dimmed and the low-volume yellow alert klaxons sounded.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk," came Sulu's voice over the comm. Leonard could tell from the peculiar little "bloop" that accompanied the hail that the helmsman was calling over a secure channel.

"Kirk here," Jim said, his face puckering up in a concerned frown.

"Sir," Sulu said, "short-range sensors picked up unidentified spacecraft coming straight for us. I managed to avoid collision, but sir…."

There was a pause long enough to make Bones want to leap through the circuits and throttle the pilot before Sulu continued. He took another sip of Kentucky's finest, instead.

"Sir, I think you'll want to come up here. The ship is… unusual. Lieutenant Field _swears_ it's shaped like some famous department store her family used to own back in the Twentieth Century."

Bones choked.

_Finis Story Three_

* * *

**A/N:** One story to go!

Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Trek; still haven't bought any new Underoos.


	10. One More X They Weren't: 1

Jim Kirk's greatest secret was born the first time he had to sneak out a window to avoid an angry boyfriend.

He was sixteen years old and augmenting his afterglow by congratulating himself on having spent several hours with a "woman of a certain age (twenty), extraordinary experience (she was from back East) and insatiable appetites (she loved sex in all its permutations)."

She had proven to be both pleasurably edifying and wildly creative. He recuperated from his exertions, in full expectation of spending a great deal more time learning from her.

Until the sound of a door closing sent her into a panic at the thought of being caught _in flagrante delicto_. After that, young Kirk found himself clutching a collection of clothing as she silently, franticly urged him to make haste in making his exit. It was an experience he would come to repeat many times throughout his life.

Fortunately for him, that first woman lived on the ground floor. Even more fortunate (he was about half a kilometer away from her home by the time he realized it was a _good_ thing) she'd shoved him out the window with her panties instead of his boxer briefs.

He reveled in the rush he got just from wearing the things. He didn't even stop to think before he vowed to get another pair. It wasn't long before lounging in lingerie had become a habit hard to break.

Panties pilfered from paramours were the ideal, but filling his drawers in that manner was impractical at best and criminal at worst. He wasn't above begging for them or buying his own, but honestly acquired unmentionables always ended feeling more comfortable and comfort_ing_ than stimulating.

But it wasn't just that the slippery fabric felt good sliding against his recently over-used man parts that made young Jim fall in love with female attire. Part of him was pretty sure that first pair of panties were a good luck charm, allowing him to escape that brute of a boyfriend, unscathed.

Eventually, he realized the luck o' the lingerie could be applied just about any area of his life.

.

It wasn't an easy thing, ordering his XO to remain on the Enterprise while Uhura did her thing, planetside, with a potentially hostile population. He talked out of his ass every time he assured Spock that no harm would come to the Vulcan's mate. Jim believed every word tripping off his own tongue, but belief without proof was bullshit — even for a guy who didn't believe in no win scenarios.

By the time he retired for the evening, Kirk was exhausted. He was only halfway changed into his most comfortable loungewear when his door chimed ten minutes later. There was no doubt about who he'd find on the other side.

Jim didn't bother turning around as the entrance to his quarters hissed open. Footsteps sounded across his sitting room, halting at his bedroom doorway. "Look, Spock, I know you're really worried about her…"

"I am not _worried_, Captain. I am merely curious about the current state of one in whom I have reasonable interest."

_Whatever!_

"…but Uhura knows what the hell she's doing," Kirk said right over him. "This'll work. And it wouldn't if either you or I was down there with her. The Cygneti revere strong women. Try to let her do her thing without breathing down your bond like a sled-dog on amphetamines."

He finished pulling the form-fitting undershirt over his head, and smoothed it over his muscled torso before facing his first officer.

"I mean it, Spock. She doesn't need to be distracted during delicate negotiations."

But Spock wasn't looking him in the eye. The Vulcan's… Jim could only call it a glare… was burning a whole through the red and brown silk of his shirt. Pointy-eared bastard was killing the sense of peace he'd normally gain from donning the outfit.

"What?" he asked, glaring almost as hard as his friend. "Jealous? You want a pair of your own?"

Before Spock could explain that Vulcans didn't experience jealousy, Kirk quickly explained — well, as quickly as twelve years of erotic adventure and derring-do could be explained — how wearing his Underoosas would up the odds for the lieutenant's safety.

Spock didn't look convinced, but six hours later, when Uhura herself — safe and sound, just like he'd said she would be — came to Kirk's quarters to claim her husband, he gave Jim a quick nod that could easily have meant "thank you."

* * *

**A/N:** And so begins the fourth, and final "Sock And Underoosa adventure."

Disclaimer: Star Trek and its associated characters and concepts are _still_ not mine after all this time.


	11. One More X They Weren't: 2

Since his secret was out anyway, somehow it didn't seem like a bad idea to start expanding his collection. While women's underwear were unquestionably the luckiest, Kirk realized a similar benefit could be garnered from other articles of clothing.

.

The first time Spock went on a dangerous away mission without her— well, _all _away missions were potentially dangerous; just look at what happened to them the time Spock pissed off a baby goddess with a lisp and an attitude problem.

The first time Spock went on an unquestionably dangerous away mission without her, Uhura ended up spending the night in Kirk's quarters.

It wasn't her choice. She wasn't trying to sublimate her fear for her mate by having unbridled sex with her admittedly sexy superior officer. Uhura first stepped through Jim's doors under doctor's orders.

"I know you want to stay in your rooms, wallowing in grief even before those Artoorites do most of us a favor and kill your pointy-eared paramour. But that ain't no good for you and it shore as hell ain't good for the pointy-eared progeny you're lugging around right now."

Jim Kirk, Bones promised, could bore her so silly she'd be able to sleep through a photon torpedo attack. She hadn't wanted to go. She didn't see the wisdom of hanging out with the man who'd sent her Vulcan down to what could very well be his death with no one bu Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov to watch his back. (Except that maybe there wouldn't be anyone around to stop her from killing Kirk when the news came). The doctor just waved aside her worries — and threats — saying, "This ain't a request, Gorgeous!"

When pulling rank didn't work, Leonard McCoy wasn't above playing woe-is-me and asking her if she wanted to be responsible for his broken arm when Spock found out he hadn't made sure she'd accepted the best cure of pregnancy-related insomnia the Alpha Quadrant had to offer.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth," she grumped instead of pointing out that she wouldn't even _be _in this predicament if the damned contraceptives he'd prescribed for her and her husband had actually _worked_, damn it!

"But it's working, idinit?"

He winked at her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that looked nothing like Spock's half-smile. And even more appealing than Kirk's half-lidded grin. She felt a shiver of… something tickle her in places she didn't want to be tickled. At least, not by anyone who wasn't named S'chn T'gai Spock.

_Damned pregnancy hormones! Damned crew!_

She let McCoy tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow, wondering which would kill her first: worrying about Spock? or resisting the forbidden fruits of the Enterprise?

"Kirk better be as boring as hell," she warned the doctor.

.

.

Jim Kirk knew damned well telling titillating stories of his conquests was unlikely to keep Uhura's mind off her husband. He knew it when Spock's grave voice had ordered — there was no question that it was an order — him to keep an eye on his wife. He knew it when Bones had comm'ed him, saying, "You gotta do something about that lovely lady." And he knew it when he started making plans for that evening's entertainment.

He just hadn't known how wildly unsuccessful all of his efforts would turn out to be. It was like Uhura had morphed into a completely different woman the minute Spock had beamed down to the surface of Kamalut.

By the time she politely refused to continue their discussion about the newly-discovered sub-equatorial moon variant of Northern Hammurabian (despite rumors to the contrary, he hadn't become treasurer of the Xenolinguistics club _just_ because of the available eye-candy), he was fresh out of ideas and knew he was in trouble.

Before leaving, the Vulcan had warned, "Since the advent of her pregnancy, Lieutenant Uhura has occasionally proven to be something of a challenge."

Jim's sneaking suspicion that Spock got off on that challenge was confirmed when he'd smirked and asked, "Do I even want to know?"

Spock had replied with all appearance of seriousness. "Probably. I am almost certain you _would_ want to know." Then, he'd done something Jim had never seen him do before. Spock's lips had tilted up just the slightest bit at the corners as he said almost dreamily, "But I am even more certain that I shall not explain."

Kirk knew enough about the various effects of pregnancy hormones on the female body to guess what had his first officer damn-near grinning. Obviously, that kind of distraction was out— unless… _no_. If Uhura didn't kill him for trying, Spock would. And Jim didn't like the odds of him living long enough for Spock to end his misery quickly.

Babysitting his communications chief was almost as arduous as keeping her husband company was when _she_ was the one off-ship.

"What do you say we just go to bed?"

Poor choice of words.

But the Infamous Uhura Death Glare wasn't exactly unexpected, so he managed to grin through his exhaustion and exasperation.

"Seriously, Uhura, you need to sleep. And all this worrying can't be good for the kid."

"Being fatherless won't be good for him, either!" she snapped. And then, just to make him feel even more like an ass, she started to cry. "I–I'm sorry, J–Jim," she wailed, burying her face in her hands.

As he wrapped his arms around her, encouraging her to stand and walk towards the bedroom, Kirk made a mental note to have Bones quadruple check his store of birth control hypos. And to order some extra-strength condoms for himself.

.

.

"I'm not sleeping in Chekov!" Uhura folded her arms across her slight protruding belly and flopped onto the edge of Kirk's bed. "Even for you, that's creepy."

"Nyota…"

"I am _not_ putting on some footie pajamas that look like Pavel Chekov!" She turned her back on the fuzzy gold sleeper that bore an uncanny resemblance to the young Russian.

"_Pizhama_ Chekov," he corrected without thinking.

This time, he didn't even wait for the Death Glare. Without giving her another look, he walked round to the other side of the bed and began pulling off his boots. He grasped the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion. Her quiet gasp sounded just as he was tossing it onto the bedside chair.

"What happened?" he asked, craning his neck to check on her.

Pointing to his red, brown and black tank top, she asked shakily, "Why are you wearing _that_?"

Instead of answering, Kirk grinned again. Then he stood and yanked off his trousers.

Uhura turned away before they were halfway to the floor.

Jim settled onto the bed then patted the other side. "Come on," he cajoled. "Lay down." He didn't even have to glance over at her to know she was staring at his feet.

Several silent moments passed before he felt the mattress shift. When she finally spoke, all traces of anger and outrage were missing from her voice. "Okay, Kirk. I get why you're wearing the Socks and why you want me in the Chekovs. But what's up with the Underoosas?"

He rolled his head to the side until he could meet her dark eyes. "I have to wear them. Spock said, 'Take care of her, Jim' and I said I would. I try not to break my promises to friends."

Without another word, she leaned over, grabbed the footie jammies and walked into the bathroom. When she returned, looking like — he had to admit — and overgrown stuffed banana, she climbed into bed beside him and lay on her side. Tucking her hands under her cheek, she scooted back until he could wrap his arms around her.

.

.

Spock didn't scruple to use his override code when neither Jim nor Nyota responded to repeated chimes at the captain's door.

Although the lights in Kirk's quarters were at zero percent, he crossed the sitting room silently and entered the sleeping chamber without making a sound.

He was standing directly over his sleeping mate when Kirk's disheveled head rose abruptly from her hair.

"Nothing hap—" he started to say, but Spock quickly shushed the human male.

Nyota murmured in her sleep as he gathered her in his arms and lifted her up. "Captain," he whispered over her head, raising an eyebrow he knew Jim could not see, "not even _you_ would seduce a pregnant woman who currently resembles a Terran tropical fruit."

He turned and carried his precious burden away with him.

Just before he activated the door to the corridor, he heard Jim murmur, "He'd better _hope_ she was really asleep when he said that."

* * *

**A/N:** Second chapter of the fourth, and final "Sock And Underoosa adventure."

Disclaimer: Star Trek and its associated characters and concepts are _still_ not mine after all this time.


	12. One More X They Weren't: 3

A special pleasure of being captain came from the smart "Yes, sir!" that usually followed issuing an order. Never mind that, all too often, three of Jim's closest associates uttered those words in a manner that was more accurately deemed smart_ass_ than strictly smart. Or that his Chief Engineer specialized in saying them in that dour, doubtful Scottish brogue. The rest of the crew were appropriately awed — well, except maybe for Sulu (Jim sometimes got the feeling Hikaru might be silently _laughing_ at him) — he didn't need adulation from his friends.

Except one.

He looked at the Enterprise's most recent addition and grinned. The young crewmember gave him a coy smile.

"Jim," his first officer intoned warningly without even looking up from the PADD (full of reports the captain should have been reviewing) he was perusing, "please remember your place. You are captain and should behave as such."

Kirk rolled his eyes, then winked conspiratorially. The object of his charm had only been aboard a year, but already could be counted on to respond as the captain anticipated — giggling softly and wriggled a well-padded bottom.

He had _not_ expected the serious frown and foul assault to his nostrils that followed.

"I told you feeding him pureed chickpeas and spinach would have adverse results, Jim," Spock reminded him, his voice dry. Still without looking up from his PADD, the half-Vulcan sent the diaper bag at his feet skittering across Kirk's quarters with a tap of his booted toe.

The captain of the Enterprise didn't even _try_ to argue. Spock _had_, in fact told him just that. And he'd also warned his friend in no uncertain terms that if the child's mother ever discovered Kirk had given her son the forbidden treat, Spock had no intention of sharing the blame.

"Not that your mommy won't punish him, anyway," Jim whispered as he slipped the bag's strap over one shoulder and cuddled the baby to his chest with his free hand.

"Sa-ba soba," chortled the child.

"That's right, Boots!" Kirk stood up and headed for his bedroom. "Daddy's gonna sleep on the sofa tonight!"

"My son," Spock called after him, "has a good Vulcan name. Nyota and I prefer that you use it."

.

.

Jim rummaged through the diaper bag single-handedly until he found a changing pad. Laying that on his bed, he gently placed the bundle of quarter-Vulcan joy on top.

"Doots dessy," observed the kid.

"Yeah," Kirk told him, wrinkling his nose. "You're pretty smelly, too."

Boots wrinkled his own little nose and nodded solemnly. "Sange Doots!" he ordered.

"All right! Sometimes, you're as bossy as your daddy and mommy. You know that?"

"Sange Doots!"

Jim rummaged through the diaper bag, discarding outfit after outfit, mumbling about Spock's and Uhura's "terrible taste" in baby fashion before finally giving up. Walking over to his own chest of drawers, he pulled out a few tiny pieces then came back to do the dirty work.

Work that turned out to be far dirtier than he'd expected.

"Ugh!" Kirk exclaimed when he managed to separate the baby from his uni-suit and diaper. Even after using every wipe Spock had packed, the kid wasn't quite free of odiferous muck. "I think this calls for a trip to the 'fresher, Bootsie. What you think?"

"Dlean Doots!" And then he added, "Dlean Dim!"

Jim couldn't have agreed more.

.

.

Fifteen minutes later, when a damp Kirk returned to the sitting room dressed in a red and brown and black teddy, blue and black and greenish socks and boots (the footwear, not the baby), carrying a damp Boots (the baby, not the footwear), who was similarly attired in a red and brown and black uni-suit, blue and black and greenish booties, but no boots (the footwear), Spock was still steadily making his way through the reports Jim should have been working on himself.

"Doots dlean!" declared the kid when his father (finally) looked up from his PADD.

Spock came as close to frowning as Kirk had ever seen him since… well, since the half-Vulcan had tried to murder him on the bridge nearly six years before.

"Sa-fu," Spock said, "your name is—" But just then, the door to Kirk's quarters whooshed open, and a slender figure in red and black came hurtling in.

"My baby!" Uhura exclaimed, running to her son's rescue and raking her eyes over his tiny outfit. She looked over at her husband, her expression dangerous. "Spinach and chickpeas?"

"I warned the captain," Spock said, the fear audible in his voice.

"Sa-Ba soba," Boots told her.

Uhura smiled at her son, saying in a frighteningly cheerful voice, "That's _right_, sweetie! Baba is sleeping on the sofa tonight!"

She didn't acknowledge Spock's barely audible "Sa-mekh would prefer to sleep in the bed with Ko-mekh tonight" before turning her Death Glare on Jim.

The captain found that he was also feeling a little fearful.

"Kirk!" she spat. "Didn't we _tell_ you he's not supposed to have spinach?"

"But, it's his favorite," Jim protested feebly. Boots grabbed his ear and yanked.

"The havoc it wreaks on his… diapers is bad enough," she went on, like he hadn't even spoken, "but the interference of oxalic acid with iron and calcium absorption could be dangerous!"

"I made certain he ingested several sections of Citrus _reticulata_ prior to bringing him to the captain's quarters, ashal-veh."

Uhura turned and glared at her husband again for a few seconds, but apparently decided he was worth forgiving because the next thing Kirk knew, she was beaming, then covering Spock's face and neck with kisses.

Over her slender shoulder, Spock raised a smug-looking eyebrow.

"Fine," she said once she was done wasting affection on the Vulcan, "you don't have to sleep on the sofa."

Jim wished _he_ could be similarly rewarded.

"Not a chance, Kirk," she said, almost as if she'd read his thoughts.

"I was only trying to look out for you three," he protested, donning his famously devastating smile.

"How about you 'look out for us' by getting Spock and me reassigned like we requested more than a year ago? We're raising a _baby_ on a _starship_ for the sake of the gods!"

"Hey, it worked on the Marshal Field."

She turned the Death Glare up a notch.

Undeterred, Kirk forged on. "Oh. You _meant_ that. I thought it was the pregnancy hormones talking."

Uhura rolled her eyes.

Spock sighed.

Boots giggled.

"Dim soba," he pronounced.

"Yeah, Bootsie," Jim agreed sadly. "Mommy's mad at me." He let an exaggerated hang-dog expression take over his features, and the baby squealed with even more laughter.

"Dim soba!" he shrieked.

When Kirk looked up, even Uhura was smiling at him.

"We'd miss you, too," she conceded as she headed towards the door. "Dim."

Spock meekly followed after his wife and child.

_Finis!_

* * *

**A/N:** The third (and final) chapter of the fourth (and final) "Sock And Underoosa adventure." Thanks for reading, y'all!

Disclaimer: Star Trek and its associated characters and concepts are _still_ not mine after all this time.


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